Joel Goldman - The Dead Man

Five minutes later, Frank Gentry was at the door. He wore a jacket and tie, the only old-school person I'd met at the institute. He was slim, well into his sixties, with a buzz cut etching the boundaries of a receded hairline. He stood ramrod straight until Harper looked up and waved him in.

"Frank, say hello to Jack Davis. Do whatever he asks you to do." He selected a paper from the stack on his desk, ignoring us.

"Mr. Davis," Gentry said, giving my hand a firm shake.

"Someone in your department deleted a couple of video files from the dream project. Can you retrieve them?"

He bristled. "We have a strict protocol on file retention. Nothing gets deleted unless I sign off on it. I don't recall approving the deletion of any video files."

"Well, they're gone. Sherry Fritzshall says she told someone in your department to do it."

Harper leaned back in his chair, forgetting everything else. Gentry pursed his lips, hesitating to respond. He looked at Harper.

"Sir, it's hard to keep my people in line if your sister keeps going around me."

"I'll remind her. Can you retrieve the files?"

"It depends on how deep the purge was. Whose files are we talking about?"

"Tom Delaney and Regina Blair," I said.

"I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"

"Couple of things," I said. "Anthony Corliss has software on his computer that tells him whenever anyone accesses the dream project files. I want that software deleted from his computer. If it's on anyone else's computers, I want to know whose and I want it deleted from their computers as well. Then I want you to put it on my computer and my laptop. I'll bring the laptop in tomorrow morning."

Gentry nodded, looking at Harper who nodded in return.

"One other thing," I said. "I want a log of everyone who has accessed the dream project files in the last six months. And I want you to do all of this yourself. Don't delegate it to anyone and don't discuss it with anyone other than me."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Davis. I should have this taken care of for you by noon tomorrow."

"Take care of the alert software before you leave today and call me when you're finished with that." I gave him my cell phone number. "Tomorrow is fine for the rest."

"You going to tell me what that's all about?" Harper asked when we were alone.

"I want to see those videos. I'm going to be spending a lot of time looking at the dream project files and I don't want Corliss looking over my shoulder. I want to know who has been in those files and I want to know who looks at them going forward."

"That sounds like the makings of a list of suspects."

"Not suspects, not yet. Just people who may know something."

"Why did my sister have those files deleted?"

"To keep Jason Bolt from getting them."

"Should that make me sleep any better?"

"What's the difference? You don't sleep anyway. I've got one more question. I'm going to need some outside help. Don't ask me who or what. You'll have to trust me. What's my budget?

"Whatever it takes."

I headed to the elevator when Lucy called, saying she was waiting in the circle drive. Maggie Brennan got on when it stopped on the third floor. She was a head shorter than me but solid, thick without being heavy, bundled in a gray overcoat, her head wrapped in a gray scarf, just as Janet Casey had described. A black purse was slung over her shoulder, the monochromatic outfit making her invisible on a cloudy day or dark night. Even were the sun shining, she evoked anonymity, someone passersby would neither notice nor remember. She glanced up at me and then lowered her head, reminding me of her reaction in Corliss's office.

"Have we met before today?" I asked her.

"I don't believe so."

"It's just that when I walked in on you and Dr. Corliss, it was like you knew me and not in a good way."

"You'll have to forgive me. I startle easily. I meant no offense."

"None taken. It's a small world. I used to be with the FBI. I have lunch with a group of guys, all retired law enforcement. We kick around cold cases, the ones we didn't solve. One of the guys, a retired sheriff, had a case where a couple was killed. They had a daughter named Maggie Brennan, same as you."

"I googled my name once. There were too many Maggie Brennans to count."

It was a politician's response, neither admitting nor denying. I knew many victims of crime who, like war veterans, wouldn't talk about their experiences, especially to strangers.

"So, how do you do it?" I asked her.

"Do what?"

"Teach people to control their dreams."

She raised her head a fraction. "The short explanation is that we use external cues during REM sleep such as recordings and tactile stimuli like special lights that alert the subject to the dream state without interrupting it."

"I've never heard of that before. It sounds impossible."

"Don't confuse the unfamiliar with the improbable," she said.

"Does it really work?"

"I'm an agnostic. We don't have enough data yet. But if we can't answer that question soon, Milo Harper will cut off our funding and we may never find out."

"What do the volunteers tell you?"

"Some subjects tell us that they are able to recognize when they're dreaming and then direct their dreams. Three-fourths of dream content is negative, frightening, and scary. These people say they can make their dreams more pleasing."

The elevator doors opened and I followed her into the lobby.

"What's that do for them when they're awake?"

She stopped, raising her head to mine. Her eyes were dark pools, anxious and sad.

"Dreams allow us to overcome inhibitions so we can do the things we fantasize about when we're awake. People who can control their dreams may be better able to break free of their inhibitions."

I wondered whether she would change her mind when she found out that Jason Bolt's expert witness agreed with her. "Does that make them better or worse?"

"It depends on the inhibition. Overcoming an inhibition to assert yourself can make you a better employee. Overcoming an inhibition about sex can make you a better lover."

"What about the inhibitions that protect us from our worst impulses?"

"It should be obvious that overcoming those inhibitions can have unfortunate consequences."

"Like suicide?"

"I'm a neuroscientist. I study the effects of psychological trauma on the brain. Dr. Corliss is a psychologist. He deals with behavior."

"How?"

"By helping people overcome their inhibitions."

"Even if it kills them?"

"You'll have to ask Dr. Corliss."

"I'm asking you. Did Tom Delaney and Regina Blair die because Corliss taught them to overcome their inhibitions?

"You are asking a question I cannot answer."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. Who can say why such things happen?"

"But if that is what happened to Delaney and Blair, their deaths would be powerful proof of your theories. Harper might even keep funding you if no one found out that your study had a fatal flaw."

"Those are Dr. Corliss's theories, not mine."

"I thought you were partners in this project."

"He is the lead investigator. We have different responsibilities. I'm concerned with memories, the input, if you will, of dreams. He's concerned with dreams and their effect on behavior, the output from those memories. That said, if what you suggest is true, it would be powerful proof, though I admit it raises ethical questions I leave to philosophers. As for the funding, well, I don't share Anthony's ambitions. I'm tired and I'll be relieved when my work ends."

"That's a pretty casual attitude about an experiment that may kill people."

"Perhaps, but I suppose I'm too used to death. I've studied many people who were perpetrators or victims of violence and I can tell you one thing I've learned. Killing is easy. Dying is hard."